


Neurotic Libido

by Veelez (Hyela)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyela/pseuds/Veelez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia and him are not together, he has to remember that. She tells him every time that he has to remember that. But a little pretend couldn’t hurt them from time to time, like on lazy Friday nights.<br/>Series of kisses and a few sexual encounters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neurotic Libido

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homoeroticismforthewin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin/gifts).



> Stiles/Lydia  
> Rated whatever for kisses and sexual encounters.  
> Alternative Universe: Stiles is a recluse. Lydia has her own mental issues. They’re neighbours. And friends with benefices.

_Dazed by careless words_   
_Cozy in my mind_

_I don't mind_  
 _I think so_  
 _I will let you go_  
~Liquido, Narcotic

  
First time Lydia kissed him, Stiles was half passed out from the alcohol on the floor of his room (the bed was covered with comics and garbage, as he never had the heart to clean up these days). She doesn’t go slowly into it. It’s messy right from the beginning, with plenty of tongue and bad angles, and it is, all things considered, very reminiscent of their relationship.

  
Lydia tastes like the cigarettes that she smokes when she is overly stressed, like the expansive wine that her father bought her as his monthly half-assed apology for not being too present in her life, like the salty fries that came with the pizza they ordered. It’s all very confusing, and it’s quite imperfect, but Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. Or he would, but as far as he knows, anything ‘better’ than that would be asking too much and transgressing some sort of law of friendship, one that he certainly didn’t write. But Lydia looked up at him and told him that it was just a friendly kiss. And so be it.

  
***

Second time Lydia kissed him, she was crying because her on and off man, Jackson Whittemore, didn’t want to be ‘on’ again. These two had been together since high school, but since their senior year, there had been some... perturbations. Stiles wasn’t unhappy. The perturbations had helped him to form his own relationship with Lydia. Besides, the guy was a douchebag at his best, and a mean asshole at his worst. Not that he wanted to dictate to Lydia who to go out with, that was her choice, but the less he saw Jackson, the better he felt. Anyway, it was only a third of the time. Most of the time, one of the passionate lovebirds would kick and scream at the other, blaming them for it too.

  
So, Lydia was crying in his arms, the both of them sitting against the bed —which was still an infected zone— and she ended up turning the hug into a kiss. There was not much to it, only some need for comfort and some sort of support given. Stiles was ready to give it. Truth to be told, he had felt like he was taking advantage, but he still had thought ‘the hell with it’. None of them was in the mood for political correctness, decency or words of wisdom. Lydia certainly wasn’t in the mood for rejection. She was practically clinging to him. She had always felt a bit insecure with relationships, all things considered.  
Nevertheless, she still looked up at him and told him that they weren’t together. Stiles smiled, rolled his eyes and answered ‘Obviously’. He wasn’t an idiot.

***

The tenth time, Stiles is the one who kissed Lydia.

Lydia and him are not together, he has to remember that. She reminds him every time that he has to remember that. But a little pretend couldn’t hurt them from time to time, like on lazy Friday nights when Lydia cancels her plans at the last minute, out of spite towards someone, and knocks at his door all dressed up and pretty. She wears that sublime red cocktail dress and, with her perfect strawberry-blonde hair framing her face, she looks like she is on fire. It is corny to just think about it, such a stupid, dreamy, childish thought, but it’s true. She is a wildfire, in looks and in personality.

Lydia let Stiles kiss her and she cupped his face to control the kiss. It was a ‘welcome home’ kiss, a ‘you are beautiful and don’t you forget it’ kiss, a ‘you are my friend and I take you as you are’ kiss. But somewhere in it, there was a bit of a ‘I love you, you sexy, firey lady’. Lydia must have felt it because she leaned back, smiled and tapped him on the cheek. ‘We’re not together, remember,’ she said. ‘With a dress like that, you break my heart,’ answered Stiles, making her laugh.

Truth is the best for comedy.

***

The fifteenth time was a drunk, happy kiss, much like the first one. They were playing video games —Stiles had shown her how to and she immediately kicked his ass— pushing each other playfully and laughing out loud. It was very hot, it was the beginning of summer, so they were butt ass naked, because why not?

Stiles was almost beating Lydia at a fighting game, but she suddenly turned his head towards her and kissed him, a long suave, tonguy kiss. Stiles is suddenly very focussed on the press of her breasts, the sweat on her skin, the sweet taste of her lips, the touch of her hair.  
Needless to say, Stiles loses.

***

Twentieth time was a sad, melancholic kiss. They were both standing over a grave. It was almost too much to bear. Stiles hated these ‘anniversaries’ things, that shouldn’t even be called that. He stared ahead, unable to choose between sorrow, anger or emptiness, or really, any of those emotion born out of despair. He was crushing Lydia’s hand in his own. Finally, he turned, leaned forward and kissed her chastely, still clinging to her hand. She let him, but it didn’t last, because even Lydia seemed to be grayish and fragile this day. If he had tried too hard, if he had took too much, she would have faded away too. He was sure of it.

***

The twenty-fifth kiss is the silliest of them all. Lydia had bought ice cream cones for the both of them, but a dog ran into her and she dropped one on her way home. He assumed that she would gave the remaining one to him, what with her tendency to watch her weight these days, but she insisted on keeping it since she payed for it and since Stiles didn’t need comfort-ice-cream, being a guy. A guy who doesn’t sweat much in the summer. To mock him, she tried to take a lick, but Stiles almost jumped forward and they bumped heads. Lydia called him an imbecile who thought with his stomach half of the time, and with his dick the rest of the time. She was laughing, though, and soon they were kissing while trying to lick the ice cream, some of which was melting all over Lydia’s hand. They made all kinds of stupid slurping noises and ‘accidentally’ sucked on each other’s sweet-covered tongue. It was pretty gross, but it was also funny and cute, and it put Lydia in a goofy mood.

When they were done with the treat, Stiles licked the ice cream off Lydia’s hand. They just smiled at each other, like two shy children.

***

The thirtieth time led to hot, sweaty, silent sex. They weren’t sure of who was the initiator, but they were glad, because the experience was awesome. Despite the soaring heat, the dirty bed and their sticky skin, they let themselves be submerged by waves of pleasures.

Afterwards, Stiles counted the freckles on Lydia’s body. Lydia called him a hopeless romantic. He sure is, but he is still not an idiot, and besides, his romanticism has no wait on what’s left of his realism. He told her that she didn’t have to remind him; that they were friends with benefits. Lydia looked a little uncomfortable. Then she asked him if he thought that it was enough. He answered ‘yes, anything that you give me is priceless.’ Somehow, he actually believed it and sounded sincere. Lydia pressed herself against him and smiled. She felt brighter than the sunshine.

***

The fortieth time was an angry kiss that led to angry sex. They were both in a foul mood, perhaps because of the heat, perhaps because of the state of Stiles’s apartment, and they both said stupid things. Lydia called Stiles a loser without balls who preferred to live in a mess rather than try new things because he couldn’t handle loss and change. Stiles called Lydia a spoiled dolly child who didn’t know what she wanted in life and had to rely on men to get her further.

At least he didn’t call her a slut. At least, she didn’t directly mention his dad.

Nevertheless, she slapped him and scratched him, and he screamed at her, and it all ended in a furious sexual encounter. Lydia, not even fully undressed, back into a corner and fucked against a wall, tracing bloody lines on Stiles’s back.

When they were done, all animosity had left their bodies. They sat against the wall, and Lydia complained half-heartedly about back-pain. Stiles caressed her hair absently. They did not apologize. Apologizing felt like something violent at the time, like the admission that something went wrong.

***

The forty-first kiss, Stiles barely remembered it. He knew that he had finally cleaned up his bed, enough to sleep comfortably in it, which he intended to do for about eight to twelve hours. And he did, but in the middle of the night, he woke up to a weight on his chest, altering his respiration. He didn’t open his eyes, but he knew that it was Lydia. Who else could it be? No one else had a double of his keys besides Scott, and he hadn’t seen Scott in forever (and he doubted that Scott would want to sleep on him anyway).

He felt the press of a goodnight kiss on his lips and fell back into sleep.

***

In fact, the forty-second kiss was a good morning kiss. Unfortunately, it tasted bad because neither of them had brushed their teeth yet, so it did not last long. However, it was followed by Stiles going down on Lydia and making her giggle and moan in pleasure. That tasted good on his tongue, sounded good to his ears, and felt good on his conscience.

Stiles guessed that all was forgiven.

***

The fifty-first is the best kiss ever. Strangely, it didn’t happen at home —but not too far either. Stiles tried to go outside, stepping out of the ever-so-dirty apartment and out of his life as a hermit. He thought he should practice, because he wasn’t going to be stuck here all his life, especially not with Lydia trying out for a master’s degree. So he went out, succeeded to reach the sidewalk, crossed the street and... nearly was smashed by a big truck. Lydia, coming home from work, saw it and screamed like a banshee.

When she assured herself that he wasn’t hurt in any way, she proceeded to yell at him, swearing and spitting, practically ordering him not to die, ever. Stiles thought this was very sweet. Being told by someone that they don’t want you to die is an underrated experience. But the best was when Lydia blurted out that she loved him very much and that he was probably the most important person in her life, it almost literally made his heart jump out of his chest and he got teary-eyed. Lydia scoffed and wiped these tears. Then she kissed him.

It wasn’t one of these breathtaking kiss you saw in the movies, but it lasted a long time and it conveyed such love, like Stiles had never felt before. He thought he could be cured of his agoraphobia on the spot with that kiss.

Lydia hugged him and they went back home pressed one against the other. 

***

Countless other times happened after that, but none of them beat that one, loving kiss. In the fall, it already seemed far away and they were back to their routine, and to that promise of not letting the kiss be anything more than friendly kisses. However, Stiles feels at peace with his feelings. He might have been a depressed, scared little hermit, but he still had value for someone as wonderful and brilliant as Lydia. It mattered more, he found out, than ‘going out’ with someone. Lydia and him weren’t a couple, but they were still together. Together as close friends. Together against the world. Neurotic, horny kids, or beat-up, fucked up adults; it was all meaningless.

Both were just fine if they were together.


End file.
